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She hears him return, though he says nothing. Her wait is nearly over. There will be pain. Two canes, medium and heavy, lie innocently beside her body, over the desk. And the tissues, because there will be tears. And afterwards, there will be lust and need, his body against hers, and the turbulent blaze of sex.

The head drove me home, but let me out a block away, so I’d look like I was walking back from my friend’s. The next day he took me to a doctor, a nice, friendly woman who took the need for pregnancy testing and STD testing, for a girl in school uniform, very much in her stride.

Doctor, doctor, gimme the news…

He took me back to her clinic a week later, and held my hand – she took that in her stride too – while she gave me the results. And when she told us I wasn’t pregnant and hadn’t acquired any STDs I was so happy I jumped into his arms and kissed him.

That didn’t surprise her either, so I guess she knew that Conal Wright sometimes fucked his girl pupils. I didn’t think of that at the time.

I wasn’t his first schoolgirl, and I wouldn’t be the last, but he’d look after me till I left.

So he took me to his place after school, and I took off all my clothes at the door, like he’d instructed me.

Ah, that’s better!

He cuddled me on the couch, and then he took me over his knee and gave me a long, long, quite hard spanking. It was a gift, too. I needed it and I loved it, naked over his knee, ass under his nose with my thighs apart. Afterwards he stroked me, fingers inside my cunt, until I came. It felt so wonderful, and I wanted more, of course.

But he told me to come in two nights’ time: Friday night, and tell my parents I was on a school expedition. That meant I was going to stay the night! I could hardly wait. I was walking on air for the next couple of days.

There was just one other thing. On Thursday, at my local supermarket, I saw the creep who’d raped me. He had a broken leg and two broken arms, and bruises and abrasions on his nose and cheekbones. Even so I was terrified that he’d see me. But when he did he fell back, obviously terrified, and hobbled off as fast as he could. On his crutches.

If I ever got raped again, darling, [Maddie said to me as I lay beside her, listening to her story] I’d be furious if you did something like that. It doesn’t make anything any better. And it’s just stupid macho display; it’s not for my good, but the man’s. And I hate the smarmy way men tell a woman they’ve beaten up their rapist, like they’re a cat dropping a bloody mouse onto the carpet. So don’t do that. But … the truth was, I felt good when I saw that creep. I felt so savage, and glad he’d got what he fucking well deserved.

One thing I’ll say for the Head was that he never told me about it. He’d done it, I guess, to relieve his own feelings, and maybe to put the guy out of the raping business, at least for a while. So he hadn’t pretended to me that he’d done it for me. But I was pleased he’d done it. I was pretty ruthless back then. And I never saw that creep again, either.

Anyway, on Friday morning, I got out my old school uniform. The one that was far too small. The reason he’d first punished me, it seemed an age ago. I put it in my schoolbag.

The Edinburgh Tattoo

I left early in the morning, and when I got to school I changed into the mini-me uniform in the toilets. I looked such a slut! Skirt just about up to my panties, and well, I had trouble getting the shirt buttons done up. Perfect! Then I went to see the head. He’d cane me for that, I knew. And I wanted him to cane me hard, before he fucked me.

My love Gretel has been in the wrong part of the world for too long. But soon she’ll be back where she belongs. I’m starting to anticipate her arrival. I’m starting to make plans. One of the first things that will happen to her is that I’m going to put her pver my knee, and give her a long and memorable spanking. Skin to bare skin.

Why is that such a priority, in my imagination, and – I’m certain – in actuality? What is this? Why do I like this so much?

There are visual pleasures to be had from spanking Gretel. The sight of her flesh rippling and firming under my hand as each smack lands. Her face frowning in concentration, a slight pursing of her mouth with each blow. I’ve watched these things with absorption, and been amazed by their, and her, beauty.

When I make the smacks harder I can watch the changes in her skin, the instant of pallor directly under my hand at the instant of contact, and study it as it blushes to pink as the blood rushes to the assaulted skin.

At first I can see individual prints, my palm, fingers and thumb marked on her like the painted hand on Paleolithic cave walls. But those marks soon merge into one large red blotch covering her buttocks and upper thighs.

As I continue, slowly building up the force of the smacks, she gives me movements to watch, the rocking of her hips and buttocks as she presses down against me and then offers herself up in answering rhythm to my hand. She tucks her hair behind her ears, but when she’s in spanked-girl motion on my knee it falls forward over her face.

There are tactile pleasures, the curved planes of her buttocks and thighs under my hand, soft when I touch her gently, firmly rebounding when I touch more fiercely. It feels so sensual. I love the impact of my palm against her muscles, and the reactions of her body in that second of impact.

Those sensations are all the more intense for only lasting for an instant. Gretel’s body pressed against mine, her hips slowly pumping, moving under my hand: I’m achingly aware of every silken micro-movement of her belly or her thighs.

There are sounds, too: the clap of skin against skin and her occasional answering grunts. And there are our own heady smells.

There’s another thing, though. There’s a strange, almost telepathic intimacy between us when I heat and mark her. I know that the sting in my hand is only a distant echo of the much fiercer pain in her bottom and thighs. I wouldn’t like that sensation myself, but I seem to have some sense of the way in which Gretel experiences it as pleasure. That means I can feel that pleasure along with her. I also know, just as surely as I know that I felt her pleasure, that she can feel some of my my pleasure in watching her, holding her, and spanking her incredible, beautiful ass and thighs.

He smiled down at me, freshly orgasmic, freshly spanked, over his knee. I’d just asked him to fuck me, and I’d meant it. He put his hand back on my poor, sensitive bottom, and said, “No, Maddie. You know this isn’t the right night. I want it to be special for you.”

I thought of arguing with him. But it seemed such a silly thing that I just giggled. He looked puzzled. “What, girl?”

“I feel very special right now, sir. And I want you to… fuck me.”

I don’t know for sure, but that may be Ornella Muti’s (Princess Aurora in Flash Whoo-ah! Gordon) daughter.

“No, Sir.” Then I laughed again. “You can fuck me whenever you like.” It sounded like such a strange thing to say to a man. I felt so grown-up over his knee, so forward, and so good, and so happy.

“Oh, girl, I certainly will. You don’t want to have any choice on that, do you?”

I had to think about that. Then I said, truly, “No, I don’t. That’s what ‘whenever you like’ means. Always, Sir. Not just the first time.”

He spanked me again, six smacks, not hard. They hurt me, but I knew he wanted me to feel good. I did.

“Thank me for your spanking, Maddie.”

“Oh, yes, Sir! Thank you for spanking me. And thank you for making me come. It was glorious. If you don’t mind me saying, Sir.”

He rubbed me where he’d spanked. I was ready to come again. He just had to… Then it struck that he didn’t have to do anything. I was the one who had to do things. My life wasn’t going to be fair. It was just going to be hot. At last he said, “I don’t mind you saying, at all, Maddie. I’m pleased with you. In every way. You’re a good girl. A perfect girl. You can be proud of that.”

“Sir.” I waggled my bottom at him. I hoped… Well, you know what I hoped.

He said, “But you need to get up now. Put your feet on the floor.” He helped me up, still naked. “Keep your back to the fire, girl. Hands on head.”

I obeyed, and he disappeared for a while. He reappeared with my clothes, an iron and ironing board. “You can iron, I take it.”

“Better than my mother, Sir.”

He set up the board and plugged the iron. “All right. Show me.”

I reached for my panties – they didn’t need ironing. He strode over quickly, held me, and bent me forward at the waist. His hand landed on my bottom, once, twice, then six times, then ten, and I wondered, yelping and writhing and squealing apologies, how long this spanking was going to go on for. This time he really was punishing me.

It hurt. Physically, I mean. I felt so bad for doing something that made me deserve it, too. He stopped at thirty smacks, though I didn’t stop wriggling, and hopping from foot to foot for a while afterwards. My poor little ass really hurt. I wanted to rub it better, but I knew that I did that without his permission I’d feel his belt, or worse.

“Maddie. You will never dress yourself in my presence, without my express permission. Is that clear?”

“I should think not. In fact, whenever you’re here, you undress at the door. You do not have the right to wear clothes in this house, unless I tell you otherwise.”

“Yes, Sir. I understand.” I was so sorry.

“Now iron your skirt and your shirt. I’ll watch.”

He was smiling again. My heart lifted, with that. I remembered the fantasy I’d had in the bath, about being Miss Sexy Girl with an iron. So I stood further from the ironing board than I usually do, so that I had to bend at the waist.

And I began, basking in his eyes. I, uh, was finding that I don’t mind the male gaze. If it’s the right male.

While I worked, he told me he’d made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow morning.

He’d take me. We were going to do tests for pregnancy and swabs to test for STDs. And, he said, I might need to take the morning after pill.

That could be easy, but there was also a chance it could make me feel very bad. So he’d bring me here again tomorrow, so he could look after me.

The morning after pill at didn’t sound like much fun. But I realised that he wasn’t going to fuck me till all this had been dealt with, and I was ok. That made sense. I wasn’t getting what I wanted, but he was taking care of me.

Eventually, I finished, and uniform was all crisp and warm again. He looked at me very seriously. “You may get dressed now, Maddie.”

When I’d finished, he held me in his arms and kissed me. I felt him getting hard again. So did he, because he suddenly stopped. “Come on, girl. I’d better take you home.”

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

it was three in the morning. They’d spent the night fucking, but – to her surprise – he hadn’t spanked her. His belt lay on the sheet beside them, as it usually did when they were in bed, and the cane hung on the wall beside the bed. Both were unused.

She thought they were going to sleep now, but he said, “Up, girl. Up!” The first time he said “up” it was as though he had a treat for her: there was mischief, and enticement, in his voice. The second time it was clearly an order.

She murmured, “Yes, Master,” and rolled out of bed, and stood up. HJe got up and put on a dressing gown. He didn’t offer hers. He took her by the hand and led her out of the house.

The night air was cool on her skin. She could feel goosebumps forming on her shoulders and breasts. She wore only her wrist and ankle cuffs, and her collar. She was grateful for the little bands of warmth they offered.

She could hear birds above, sleeping in the trees, mildly complaining at their disturbance, then deciding they were no risk and returning to silence. There were nocturnal mammals around, she knew, but they had heard humans and crept away.

He led her down past the greenhouse, down the slopes to the bottom of the garden, a spot under the plum tree, over-looking the valley.

There was a trestle there. She’d never seen it before, or anything similar, though she knew what it was. And what it was for. He’d made it for her.

“Bend over, little one. Legs apart, head down. And reach your arms right down.” She obeyed, and attached her wrist and ankle cuffs to the snap bolts he’d put in, low on each side. She experimented a little, so she could confirm to herself that she was helpless, held fast.

He fetched from below the plum tree a wooden paddle. She hadn’t seen that before either. It looked very home-made.

He held it to her mouth, and she kissed it. Her heart was beating fast. It was hard, and it was nearly an inch thick. He’d made it, just to hurt her with it.

He took the paddle from her mouth, and stepped back. He said nothing.

Then it landed, against her lower bottom. Noise and pain overwhelmed her, and she yelped. She didn’t usually cry out at the first impact, but this was too strong. She was in its control, not hers.

By the third impact she was wailing continuously. Not loud, but uncontrollably. Except by Master. He was in control of the sounds she made, how she moved and what she felt, and when.

The paddle landed, over, and over. The strokes got no harder, but each one hurt a little more, burnt more fiercely, than the one before. Now she jerked each time the paddle landed, body rocking with the impact but held fast by her cuffs. If it was cold, naked in the night air, she no longer knew it. She knew nothing but pain, and the sound of her own wailing, what Master called her pain-song.

Eventually she became aware that the paddling had paused. Her Master said, “Thirty-six.”

She’d had three dozen! Simply for his pleasure. But at least it was over.

He said, “So I think, just four more. You can count and thank me, for these last strokes.”

He concentrated on her lower bottom and upper thighs. But when she said “Forty, thank you, Master,” he didn’t tell her she was good.

Instead she felt his hands holding her hips like talons, holding her as if her cuffs weren’t enough. His cock slipped into her cunt, deep, then all the way out, then deep, then out. She breathed in time with his movements. It was so good. But on the fourth withdrawal, his cock didn’t return. She stopped herself from protesting. That paddle was on the lawn beside her. He pushed her ass down, and she felt his cock pressing against her sphincter.

Her head dropped, helpless, as he thrust into her ass. He usually took his time when he butt-fucked her, but now he was urgent, insatiable need. She heard him grunt once, when he was all the way inside, his cock deep in her ass and his body pressed against the fierce heat of her buttocks. Then he fucked her, hard, fast, working on his own orgasm. Not hers. But soon, ruthlessly fucked, she heard herself wailing again. Not a pain song.

Note

The halo of light above my girl’s body: I’m not sure what that was. But I like it. It was a night of mysteries, and there was something deep and sacred going on. I don’t know what it was, in technical terms, but to me it adds to the magic and mystery.

It’s sometimes assumed that anal sex is almost a sub-category within bdsm, that anal sex is inherently bdsm, and people who do bdsm necessarily have anal sex.

Of course this isn’t true. Lots of vanilla heterosexual and vanilla gay couples have anal sex without it having any bdsm resonance for them; it’s just a variation. And lots of bdsm people don’t have anal sex in their repertoire. They are different categories, bdsm sex and anal sex. Some people do both, and some people do one or the other.

Still, I’m one of the people who does both. And I find that I feel very masterly, very dominant, while taking a submissive woman anally. It doesn’t have to be a bdsm thing, but when it happens in a bdsm context, then for me it becomes very strong, very intensely bdsm.

So, I thought, how come? What are the connections between anal sex and bdsm?

The obvious and wrong answer is that the submissive receives and the dominant penetrates: they take the “active” role. But that isn’t necessarily how anal works in bdsm works. Aleister Crowley, for example, used to flog his male submissives, and then make them bugger him. He’d give instructions on how fast or how deep, and they knew they were in trouble if they didn’t please their master.

It’s never what you do, in bdsm: it’s what it means.

I think the thing that’s common to both anal sex and bdsm is that they have a kind of hard intimacy. I think of the Nine-Inch Nails song, “I want to fuck you like an animal; I want to feel you from the inside.” Which isn’t necessarily a song about anal sex. Still, it’s that urge that I’m thinking about; to be truly inside one’s submissive’s body, to feel her.

The vagina is in a sense part of the outside of the body. (Germaine Greer got in trouble for pointing this out, a few years back; but for once the mad old bat was right). It’s not a hole; more like a fold, or an indentation, in the body, a thick-skinned one, evolved to deal with the outside world and with intrusions.

The anus is different. It’s thin-skinned. That’s one reason why anal sex is more risky, in terms of contact injuries and viral transmission.

In a strict medical sense the anus can also be said to be outside the body, the same sense in which the whole system involving the mouth, the throat, stomach and entire alimentary canal, is outside the body. Think of it was the inner part of a tube; the interior curve of a tube is still part of the exterior surface of the tube. Or, if you like, think of a tea-cup. You put tea “in” the cup, but the tea-receptacle part of a cup is still outside of the cup itself. Inside the cup, it’s porcelain.

But still, the hell with science and medicine.

The experience is that anal penetration is intimate. You are closer; you have to take greater care because of that; there’s great intimacy, of sensitive male flesh and skin inside sensitive female flesh and skin, moving together, carefully, body to body. (Leaving pegging out if it, for the moment: the dildo doesn’t feel anything. It’s the symbolism, not the sensation, that counts.)

Dominants and submissives need to know each other, to be in something close to telepathic contact. Sometimes that very close contact can be experienced in anal sex.

There are other connections between anal sex and bdsm, but intimacy seems to me to be the most powerful.

I was washing myself in Sir’s bath while he watched. It was an interesting experience. He said nothing, and looked into my eyes, not at my body. I felt shy at first, but less so by the time I washed my feet. Which, by the way, is about the most exposed thing to do in front of a man. By then I was enjoying myself, because he said nothing, but smiled at me. So I could flirt a little.

But then I heard a clunk sound from somewhere in the house. The washing machine had finished and switched itself off. He said, “All right, Maddie. Time to get out.” He picked up a nice warm, fluffy towel and stood beside the bath reaching down his hand, I took his hand and stood up, and he wrapped the towel round my shoulders. “Get yourself dry, girl. And then come out, the way I told you. Stand beside the armchair, hands on head. I’ll be with you shortly.”

And he left, I guessed to deal with my clothes and put them in the drier. I looked at myself in the mirror. I liked myself. I was clean, and pink. The boiled lobster look never goes out of style!

I was going to have my head dangling down to the carpet soon, while he spanked me. I thought about putting my hair up. But I wasn’t sure that I could do that so that it wouldn’t fall out while I was getting my bottom warmed. Also, I guessed he wouldn’t like it much. So I plaited it.

Out in the living room there was a big tan leather armchair with a round arm. There were other armchairs but I knew that was the one he meant.

So I stood beside it as he’d ordered. And I thought about what was coming. I’d liked being spanked by him from the very first time. It seemed so long ago, now. But I already knew, once I’d felt his hand on my bottom, that this felt incredibly right, and sexy, and good.

This was going to be the first time he’d spanked me naked, and that felt right too. We didn’t have to pretend any more. There was the horrible thing that had happened to me, only three hours ago, but though that meant we weren’t going to fuck tonight, it wasn’t going to be long. Whenever he said, as far as I was concerned.

Then he came back. “Good girl, Maddie.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Take that towel off, then get back in position.”

“Yes, Sir.” I only had to twitch it at my left shoulder and it fell away, at my feet. The air was warm around my body. I could feel steam rising from me. Literally, as well as metaphorically of course. He’d put the heating on. I hoped that when we fucked it would be here, and not in his office.

Then he came close, and he put his hand on my jaw and lifted my face a little. He smiled down at me, and then kissed me. It was our first kiss, and my heart was beating so hard, and my cunt felt like it was melting. I was so turned on; I wanted him to fuck me then, so, so much.

But he smacked my bottom, not hard. Fondly. It hadn’t occured to me that you could spank a girl fondly. It seemed a nice thing to know.

He sat in that chair, holding my hand, and then he pulled me down, over his knee. There was my face, so close to the carpet, my fingertips and my toes resting on it. And my bottom up and poised for him.

“Maddie. Why are you getting this spanking?”

I had to think. I couldn’t care less, just then, why he was going to spank me. It was so hot and warm for me that he wanted to, and that was all I knew. But I remembered. “Because I lied to you, Sir.”

“Yes, you did, girl. But you were just being a little bit mischievous. I’d hate for you ever to lose that. Not completely, though you’ll often go too far and have to be put in your place. Won’t you?”

I had to smile. “Yes, Sir. I expect so.”

He put his hand on my bottom then, and squeezed me. God, it felt good. I was so wet. He said, “So. You’re getting this spanking because I think it’ll bring you back to the world. You’ll know where you are and feel better. In the familiar world. Because you know you’re going to be spanked often, don’t you, Maddie?”

“Yes, I do do, Sir. And I know, now I’m not scared any more, that I’ll love that.”

I heard him laugh, very quietly. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll enjoy every time, Maddie. Sometimes I’ll be setting out to punish you properly. What I think you’ll love is being a girl who has to do as she’s told, and gets punished if she doesn’t.”

He smacked me again, and again, one on each side. He hadn’t asked me a question, but I said, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Head down, thighs right apart.”

I obeyed, forgetting to say yes Sir because his hand was coming down on my bottom now, over and over, warm and hard. I knew nothing except his lap, which came with a hard cock pushed against my hip, and his hand.

His hand landed on the backs of my thighs, and the sides of my bottom, and then more and more on the sit spot, where – I was starting to realise – I like it most.

I knew I was bright red by then, and it was starting to burn, but he kept on, hurting me and comforting me at once, over and over. I lost count of how many smacks he’d given me, and I’d lost all track of time. I just knew that I wanted him to continue, because there was … something ahead for me, and his spanking me was driving me towards it.

Eventually he relented and stroked my cunt, in amongst the smacks, and the thing I was heading for started to come at me, like a train at the other end of the tunnel. I spread my thighs as wide as I possibly could, to make him stroke my cunt more, but mostly he concentrated on the spanking, pushing me harder and harder.

And – I don’t know. The train hit me. I came so hard over his knee, my head up and my legs in the air, one screaming girl, blissed out. Eventually I collapsed back on his knee, head down, legs limp, his hand resting on my bottom, stroking.

His cock was so hard. Harder even than when I’d sucked him in his office. Bigger. I breathed. I wished I could look at him, but his hand held me firmly down. My body wanted him so strongly that it took me a while to realise I hadn’t actually asked. Not out loud, not in so many words. “Fuck me, Sir? Will you fuck me please, Sir?”

I really wanted to do the prompt this week. It’s a good one. But the Jennifer and Maddie saga belongs to Wicked Wednesday. And I simply couldn’t fit an alien or even a visitor, let alone refugee policy, into this week’s episode. Sorry about that.

I rolled onto my stomach, and let Fliss run her fingertips gently over her and Maureen’s handwork. “Wow,” she said again. “I have been a bad girl.”

I said, “Oh. Not really. I mean … ” And there was nothing further that I could say about that.

“Haven’t I?”

My belt was still in bed with us where I’d dropped it, when I pulled her mouth off my cock and hauled her forward, to get her cunt against my mouth. Usually I spanked her with it when she was sucking me, but this time I hadn’t. Dominance requires a certain purity of self-belief, which I had not felt, for very sound reasons.

Still, what Fliss knew was that she had not been spanked. It had been a good fuck, but it had been an egg without salt.

So I picked up the belt, and the powers, rights and duties that it implies. “Well. Now you mention it…” And Fliss slid over my lap, hard little bottom arched in mock-repentance and sexual greed.

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